


Brunch

by flinchflower



Series: Slash Me Twice [77]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Fatherhood, M/M, Parental Discipline, Spanking, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 00:41:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt #77, Poison.   A sleepy Winchester morning with more John introspection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brunch

**Author's Note:**

> Copyright notice: I hold the copyright for Mistress Tess & Tessera, original characters, and multiple storylines associated with her. Someday (hopefully sooner than later) you'll see her in a series of novels, I ask that at this time others refrain from use of the character without express permission. She is allowed to play in fanfic, I just request that I know about it. Frankly, I hesitate to post any of the fics with her in them, it's always a struggle... but... here we are.
> 
> Disclaimer: Not for profit, simply a writing exercise. Herein lies Dean/Sam slash, in an AU timeline where John did not lose his life. John appears in parental context only. Follows in series from previous prompts, but stands alone if preferred.

John thinks to himself that he’s glad that Sam slept the night through for once, the kid needs the sleep. The nightmares have eased off some, with the training he’s done, but they’re not gone. John’s pretty sure it’s gonna take a while before Sam’s mind relaxes enough to trust the new protections, until he gets used to things, before they stop. For once in his life he just lays there in bed, a careful eye on his boy. The clock says it’s time to get moving, but he’s just… tired.

A low moan from the next room catches his attention, and he’s pretty sure that’s a good indicator that Dean just woke up and rolled over. That’s all it takes to get John moving, and he quietly rolls out of bed, resting his feet on the cool wood floor for a moment, letting his body adjust to vertical again. Sam sleeps through the movement, and John stamps out the wish to stay in bed, watching his son sleep.

He can see a note on the table, as he crosses the suite to the second bedroom, but it’s going to have to wait. He can hear Dean muttering low curses, and ignores the language to walk in the door and stand over his oldest boy.

“Uh, Dad, uh, sorry, I, uh-“

John lets just the barest hint of a smile quirk the corner of his mouth. “Don’t worry about it.” He has to hide it, though, because he really doesn’t want to laugh at the kid, who’s blinking like a startled mole, being told he’s got a free ticket for his language a few minutes ago. He leans on the wall next to the bed, studies his son, who flushes under the scrutiny.

“We should talk about yesterday, Dean.”

“Yessir.” God. He hates watching Dean blush like that, hates watching that strong gaze hit the floor. But there’s ways to learn lessons, and unfortunately this is one of them.

“You want to take a stab at telling me what’s bugging you?”

Dean’s clearly surprised, and caught off guard. “Just feeling restless – worrying about what’s coming.” Catching him like this doesn’t happen often, and this time it’s to John’s advantage.

“You think it might be easier to just tell me these things?”

More blushes. “Yessir.”

“Gonna make sure it gets done, next time?”

“Yessir.”

“Good boy. Get over here.” The command is gruff, and Dean reluctantly peels himself from the bed, watching John as he pulls himself to his hands and knees on the bed, as if expecting a swat as he’s getting up. John wavers between wanting to kick himself for that, and satisfaction, because though he doesn’t like the reaction, Dean needs to be thinking before he acts. He slowly stands up, wincing as his pajamas chafe, and a brief curiosity as to why the kid bothered with pjs crosses John’s mind, before another more intelligent part provides the answer that Tess was the one who put him to bed.

Dean stands straight in front of his father, and with effort lifts his eyes up to meet John’s green ones. John reaches out, slow and gentle, like he would to a frightened child – like he has to Sammy so often, and pulls him in close. He doesn’t hold Dean for very long, just enough that he feels that tug at his soul, because Dean’s not a toucher like Sammy is, and he lets him go quick before there’s an uncomfortable fidget. 

He can’t help himself, though, he reaches out again and brings Dean’s chin up, looking at him and frowning a little.

“You look tired. Didn’t sleep well?”

“Not really.” The boy shuffles uncomfortably. 

“Hm.” John walks out to take a look at Tess’ note, Dean trailing after him stiffly. It’s short and to the point, and he marvels at the perfect Spencerian script. He’s to relax, and she’ll bring breakfast by around ten – it’s nine now, a late start for the Winchester family. He hands two bottles of juice to his boy.

“Dean. Why don’t you go crawl in with your brother, buddy.”

The hopeful look kills him, and he gives the kid a little push. “Move it. You’re still tired, you need the rest,” he says, emphasizing the last word, which gets a little sparkle going in the jade green eyes. He chuckles as Dean’s step quickens, and settles himself at the table with his journal, looking over his notes from the last hunt they did here, a trail of cursed objects. He wonders if they missed something, they were pretty sure the person who laid the curses was dead, but they hadn’t found the history they should have, either. 

Dean feels the first inkling of laughter as he slides into bed next to Sam, and Sam reaches out for him without even waking up. He’s surprised though, when Sam pulls him in close, and he’s cradled on the younger man’s chest. And even more surprised when the lulling wash of exhaustion swells over him, putting him to sleep.

John listens for a few minutes to the silence and chuckles to himself. It’s got to be over an hour later when the door opens – apparently Tess is done with the knocking, and he’s not surprised. Not when they’re the next door down from her personal suite. Not at all.

She looks at him, and glances at the empty bedroom, raising an eyebrow.

“Sent him in with Sam.” _Yes, I checked on him, and yes, he’s fine._

“Good choice,” she says, and his eyebrows raise at the critical tone her voice takes on.

“Boy was wound up.” _He’s hurting and needs a little guidance._

“Yep.” _I’m not blind, woman._

“Need to watch out for that.” _You’re his father and you have a responsibility._

“So does Dean,” he says evenly. _I won’t be around forever._ There’s a myriad of nasty things they could say to one another, but neither one of them handles poison lightly.

“You talk to him?” _This is it, old man._

“Yep.” _Did you really think I’d let my child suffer?_

“How late do you want to let them sleep?” _No. But I know the job makes men hard, and I have to ask._

“Remember the old rule about letting sleeping dogs lie?” _They need each other, I’m not gonna wake them, and neither are you._

 

Finally, Tess' rich laugh fills the room, the posturing is over, the long silences between replies become just time for thought and they’re fine again, except he’s even more tired than he was before. She puts a plate on the table in front of him, and then they’re both turning to see a sleep-tousled Sammy coming out of the bedroom, his hair sticking up in odd places, rubbing his eyes like a sleepy child.

John doesn’t even think about it, just gets up to go fetch him, pulling him gently to sit down at the table. Tess smirks at John, knowing it was just an excuse to be able to touch his youngest boy. So he’s not demonstrative or anything, you’d think she’d cope better with it since she isn’t either. And just like that he hears Mary’s voice in his head, the way he sometimes does. I swear John, sometimes when I see how much you love me it scares me. And she’d always pull him in close, and now he’s just going to let the memory slide back into place before he gets uncomfortable.

“Is your brother up, Sam?”

“Bathroom,” he mumbles, and there might have been a ma’am at the end there, but neither John nor Tess can really tell. She’s set four places at the table, and John wonders how she knew that they need family right now. He’s watching the graceful motions she makes, serving – there’s eggs and sausage and French toast that she’s covering each plate with, and Dean wanders out, looking decidedly interested. Tess blesses the food, surprising all three of them, and then John and Dean dig in happily. It’s not long before the lack of motion from Sam catches his eye. The boy is staring at his plate like it’s full of poison, instead of perfectly edible eggs and bacon.

“Samuel.” John nods at the food when the kid looks up, and he’s not sure what he reads in the boy’s face, aside from not liking it much. He gives it another minute, then stands up as Tess takes a breath. His motion stops whatever she was going to say and he simply heads over to the fridge, pulls out a bottle, and sets it in front of Sam. “Your choice, Sam. The look the kid gives the bottle of Ensure is positively vile, and he picks up his fork and starts in slowly with the plate of food. Dean relaxes, and John wants to chuckle, knowing Dean was counting down to a spanking for one of them.

And finally, John looks at Tess, gives her a wink. Sometimes it’s just in how you convince them to behave.

**Author's Note:**

> Soundtrack: running water


End file.
